


So it all started the morning after Halloween...

by SherlockMalfoy



Series: my harry potter crackfics & unfinished tales [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcoholic Harry, Crack, F/M, Gen, Lily Potter is a potrait and in charge of the Department of Mysteries, Luna Lovegood is also a therapist, M/M, Post War AU, Reincarnation?, Unfinished, Unspeakable Luna Lovegood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-08-19 07:50:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16530434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlockMalfoy/pseuds/SherlockMalfoy
Summary: After the war, Harry Potter became an alcoholic. He always finds trouble when he's with Seamus and Dean. And it's usually in the muggle world it happens, too.Thomas Gaunt just wants to live his life as best he can after a terrible car accident that gave him amnesia. He gets a lot of help from his therapist, Dr. Lovegood.(Unfinished story. Will not be continued.)





	So it all started the morning after Halloween...

 

A year.

They had lasted about a year after the Battle of Hogwarts.

And then Ginny turned up seven weeks pregnant...

Harry would have been absolutely thrilled. He had always wanted a family - a big one - with lots of kids like the Weasley clan.

Only... Ginny was seven weeks pregnant.

Harry had returned from his trip to Australia with Hermione and Ron, looking for the muggleborn's parents of course, five weeks ago. They'd been in Australia for two months searching. Harry had contacted his girlfriend nearly every single day they were apart using a new set of two-way mirrors...

So that's why after an additional few months his old pals Seamus and Dean had decided to drag him out of Grimmauld Place for a night of muggle fun.

And it had been a blast! Really! Honestly!

He'd told people his costume was some obscure foreign monster, but as the night wore on and he got drunker he just told people his name was Lord Moldyshorts... which devolved into "that fucking wanker what destroyed me life".

Harry was a very loud and obnoxious drunk.

But his friends were happy to see him enjoying himself even if his fancy dress costume was in poor taste. But since it was muggles who had no idea about magic and wizards and who this Dark Lord character ever was, they let it slide. Plus, it was rather funny getting pictures of Harry dressed as Voldemort doing really embarrassing things while drunkenly ordering people about and brandishing a large wooden spoon as if it were a wand.

 

He wasn't sure what had happened, how it had happened, or why it had happened.

He was barely aware of even his own name really.

He'd been apparently in a coma for a year this last May.

And he had been having a rather hard time adjusting to society when he had very little memory of anything that had come before.

There was a vague sense of dread, and he often found himself holding the plastic forks in his take-away in an odd manner. He'd brought this up in therapy from time to time but only because if he sat there glowering at everyone all of the time they would start asking him how he felt. What he was thinking. If he could remember anything.

He could get vague snatches of memory, usually after one of his nightmares that typically had him vomiting in upstairs toilet of the tiny house he rented a room in. And unfortunately it had been another rough night. He wasn't sure what had prompted such a succession of violent and frankly disturbing nightmares but it might have had something to do with the books he had been stocking at work. At least that's the vague impression he had. Though how a combination of a history book about the Salem Witch Trials and a book on snake breeding could cause his mind to go to the strange places it did... it was a mystery.

A mystery that he gave little thought to at the moment as he felt his stomach clench once more and his throat burn before opening his mouth to spill out last night's kebab remains into the vile mixture of vomit and toilet water already waiting for more.

When he was through, long fingers reached up and slammed the old chrome handle down to drain away the evidence of his weak constitution and nightly terrors. Then, the young bookstore clerk pulled away to sit with his back pressed against the cool porcelain of the old bathtub.

"Jesus, Thomas, you look pale as a ghost."

Blue eyes narrowed to glare at the young man standing in the doorway of the bathroom. Annoyance flickered at the back of his thoughts as his fingers twitched as if itching to do- well, he didn't know what. And that was the crux of the whole bloody problem.

"I'm fine, Steven. Just another shock of food poisoning. I really should stop eating at that food truck across from work."

"This has been going on for a while, it could be serious. Do you want me to see if Nancy will drop you by the clinic?"

"I'm fine, Steven!" he snapped, causing his dark haired housemate to flinch. Though he didn't see it, having put a hand to his face and rubbed at his tired eyes. "I mean... if it doesn't clear up tomorrow, then I will."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes I'm bloody well sure!" he shouted back, causing his housemate to flinch again, though this time he had seen and he sighed. "Sorry..." he muttered, halfheartedly adding in that he was still working with the therapist about his temper. This seemed to appease his crooked nose sort-of friend who leaned over to offer his hand to help him to his feet.

"Swing by the shop later and I'll try to get you something to help."

The rest of the morning went by rather quickly. He showered, he dressed, he didn't have time to grab a bite or a cup of coffee before having to rush out the door in hopes of catching the bus for work.

Having barely made it he took his time on the commute to push back his uncertain thoughts and worries about his odd night terrors and focus on the day ahead. It wasn't much of a job or a life, but it was his. He'd started with nothing but a name and some paperwork stating he was brought in after a terrible car accident and was in a coma. That was it.

Now he had a stable roof over his head, a somewhat steady job that allowed him to indulge in expanding his knowledge from time to time as he stocked the shelves full of books for both education and enjoyment. He even had, he supposed, acquaintances who called themselves his friends, and adequate meals.

Nothing to really complain about to be perfectly honest.

He got off at his normal stop, a block away from work so he could stop by a little cafe for a small bite and a coffee before getting on with the day, only to find himself at a great loss.

Standing at the counter, looking half-dead and clearly hung over, was a man in the strangest looking outfit. It was black, and rather tattered. His skin was clearly painted to be as white and pale as possible - there were smudges of tanned skin that peeked out beneath the caked on body paint. Bits of...

"Are those... Are those scales?" he found himself asking when the man had reached for a drink carrier that held three large toss-away cups on it. His question prompted only by the fact the black sleeve had risen to expose more body painted flesh - a wrist - that also seemed to have odd opalescent patches that did indeed look similar to snake skin.

When the man had turned to face him, wide green eyes blinked rapidly. Though Thomas, the poor sod, didn't even see it. The moment he got a look at that face he'd staggered back and reached for the nearest thing he could - a chair - before feeling rather faint and wondering if he were still trapped in one of his nightmares.

As darkness swarmed in from all sides he could clearly and distinctly hear the bizarre costumed man exclaim the strangest of expressions. "Merlin's saggy y-fronts!"

 

Fate was cackling. She had to be. It was the only explanation for what he'd witnessed in that coffee shop with Seamus and Dean that morning.

And now he was pacing his living room as his two best friends argued over what to do now.

"What if he really is just a muggle and has the unfortunate pleasure of looking like the most feared mass murderer of all time?" Hermione was the voice of reason, though even Harry could tell from her tone she didn't really believe what she'd just said. "I mean, it's happened before. People looking a bit like historical figures and all."

"Okay, maybe," Ron said from his place on a nearby sofa. "But what what are the chances that the guy sees Harry and faints straight away?"

"Did you see his Halloween costume?!" Hermione snapped back, then turned to her friend who had stopped pacing in front of his fireplace. "You do make a very convincing Voldemort... with the exception of having a nose and all."

Harry snorted, which caused Ron to laugh. Hermione couldn't hide her smile after that. "Besides," she added. "That man can't be him. We all saw the curse rebound. We all saw he was clearly quite dead. And might I remind both of you..." she said, tapping her nose. It resulted in another round of laughter.

Though it was cut off when there came a crash, a thud, and then the screaming of Walburga Black. Followed by another thud.

The three friends ran out into the hall to find a rather terrified man trying to back away from the screaming portrait, rather unsuccessfully as he kept knocking things over.

Hermione wasn't thinking when she cast the silencing charm at the portrait, causing it to keep moving but rant away in silence.

"Oh dear God I'm hallucinating... No. No, it's just a nightmare," the man said from the landing, trying to take a few calming breaths and muttering to himself. "It's just a dream. This isn't real. I haven't woken up yet. Steven must have... he must have spiked my tea. That's it, he spiked my tea again. I never should have agreed to live with a chemist's assistant."

Down below three ex-Gryffindors looked at one another with slight confusion. Hermione was now more convinced that this was just some poor muggle and she'd have to obliviate him before they sent him on his way.

Ron was enjoying watching the odd man trying to make sense of something he didn't understand.

And Harry... Harry was thoughtful a moment as he listened to the poor man's mutterings of self reassurance.

"Hey 'Mione?"

"Yes Harry?"

"Maybe he's a squib."

"Don't be ridiculous. Even squibs have a small spark of magic and the diagnostic charms showed nothing. He's as muggle as they come. He has to be."

"Maybe..." he said with a thoughtful frown. "But if that's the case... how did he even find the cafe?"

"What?"

"Fleur's cafe," Harry said, giving more attention to the uneasiness in his gut. "How could he find it if he's' not magical. It's a wizards only place."

Almost as one the three turned their attention back to the man on the landing, who was now standing there staring warily at them. "Excuse me," he said, trying to keep himself under control. "Assuming this possibly isn't a nightmare and is in fact quite real, may I use your telephone? I believe I need to call my therapist because I fear I am not too far from having a complete nervous breakdown."

 

They didn't have a phone. Which he found greatly unusual. Though admittedly his entire situation was quite unusual and he did not like it one iota.

The house itself was quite creepy and he would be more than happy to just leave. Though the people were at least hospitable and brought him the water he had requested and a plain cheese sandwich. He didn't trust them, but he hadn't had breakfast and was rather hungry. A hunger strike would do him no good here.

The bushy haired girl and her red headed friend kept giving him the strangest of looks while the man who had caused him such a fright before had apologized before making himself scarce, but promised before leaving that he would find a telephone for him.

 

Harry had no idea what was going on but he was certain he didn't like it. The first thing he did once Ron and Hermione had managed to calm the man down and get him seated in a room where there were no wizarding portraits or pictures, was to head down to the kitchen and use the floo.

And call the first person he could think of.

"I'm going insane, Professor. I just know it. There's no way in hell that's not him."

"Harry I think you need to go have a lie in. Clearly you're stressed and-"

"I know exactly what I saw. That man in my sitting room is Voldemort. I'd stake my reputation on that."

"Voldemort is dead, Harry. You know this better than anyone."

"So why is he asking to use my telephone!?" He pulled and twisted at his hair. "It's like.... It's like he's a... a muggle!"

That got quite a chuckle out of the old, stern headmistress. "Now Harry... if it were even possible, which it isn't, then that would be a fitting punishment for the bulk of his crimes I should think. Karma and irony."

"Professor..."

"Harry. Stop tilting at windmills. Relax and enjoy your life. You've more than earned it."

"I still don't like this. I'm calling Kingsley. He'll know if something fishy's going on here."

 

He folded his hands in his lap and looked around the room boredly. "You don't have a phone. Or a television. What do you do for entertainment around here?"

"Read mostly," the young woman said politely. "Or board games."

The red head looked to the woman briefly. "I play chess."

"Do you? Are you any good?"

"Yeah."

"I do hope you're better than my housemates. Nancy is terrible. Steven is tolerable. Possibly slightly above average. The only truly thrilling games I've had were down at the library. And most of those were against myself."

The redhead perked up a bit, and the woman smiled. "Ron, why don't you go get my set," she said. "It's been a while since I've used it-"

"But Harry's is-"

"Mine is in much better condition," she said, quite insistently. The two made faces at one another before the red head stalked off.

He sat and waited, tapping a finger against his other hand. "So Harry is?... Was he the third one?"

"Yes. He's the one who gave you such a fright. He felt so awful about it he brought you home to recover so you wouldn't be sprawled out in the floor of the cafe."

"While thoughtful... I would rather have had someone call me an ambulance. Better safe than sorry."

"He never thinks before he acts. But his heart is in the right place. Usually," she replied. "I'm Hermione by the way. And the other one was my fiance Ron. And you are?..." She let the question trail off.

"Thomas," he said, blue eyes narrowing only a fraction when he noticed her posture stiffen. "But my friends call me Tom. At least, I think they do. I assume they would, if I had many friends."

"You don't know if you have friends?"

He shrugged as the young man returned with the chess set. "It'll come back to me, I'm sure. My therapist is optimistic that I'll remember something from before the accident someday. And if not, then, well, perhaps it wasn't worth remembering anyway," he said as Ron set up the chess board on one of the tables.

"Come over and grab a seat mate," he said. "Let's see if you're any good."

 

"Harry slow down," Kingsley said to the young man that had stormed his office. "What exactly is the problem?"

"Tom fucking Riddle is in my house!"

"Are you sure you're alright?"

"Yes I'm alright! I mean, there's a fucking undead psycho killer in my house but yeah I'm sodding peachy! How is he still alive?!"

"He isn't."

"Tell that to the muggle in my house wearing his bloody face and asking to use my phone!"

"Why do you have a muggle in your house to begin with?"

And so Harry flopped down into one of the chairs before the desk of the Minister and explained about his Halloween costume, and Seamus and Dean and himself rolling up into Fleur's cafe for a sobering cup of coffee and a bite to eat before heading back home. Only to find Tom Fucking Riddle in line behind him waiting to order - which aside from the man being dead - if he was a muggle shouldn't be possible because of the numerous muggle repellent charms and wards on the place.

"And so now because of my... my stupid saving people thing I felt so damn bad about the poor guy because if he really is just a muggle who happens to look like the bastard, I couldn't just leave him there in the floor!"

"The fact that a muggle could so easily find their way into a wizard only space is concerning... I'll have the ward masters take a look at the place just to be on the safe side. Is the muggle still at your home, Harry?"

 

When Tom woke in his own bed the next day, his actual day off, something in his gut told him things were... off. Only just.

But the oddness was lost to the rest of the day as Nancy and Steven had decided to drag him out to the shops for the day to celebrate Nancy's work bonus. Really, it was an excuse for Steven to drag Tom off to one of the jewelry stores.

"Why the ruddy hell have you dragged me off here for?"

"You've got slender fingers, like Nancy. I can't very well have her trying on her own engagement ring now can I?"

"You're actually going to do it then?"

"Of course I am you dunderhead. And while she's busy trying on two thousand blouses, we can hide in here and find the right ring."

And so it was Tom was stuck trying on rings for his housemate only to turn around to give to Nancy for her next birthday. When they rejoined the woman later for dinner, Tom couldn't help but feel jealous.

What kind of a bastard was he to not have had anyone waiting for him to wake up from that bloody coma? No family, no girlfriend or boyfriend. Not even a damn pet. Nothing. Nobody.

And while he did want to know what his life was like before the accident that gave him a clean slate... a large part of him, the mostly content part, didn't want to find out.

 

"What the-"

"Is that?"

"Morgana's saggy tits..." the third member of the party mumbled and dropped his head to the table, rattling his silverware and his wineglass. "I will never be rid of the fucker."

Hermione leaned towards Ron, casting a worried glance at their friend before cutting her eyes across the dining room to the table with two vaguely familiar men and a woman. "That one looks a bit like Snape."

"But he's dead," Ron whispered.

"You know... Headmistress McGonogall said his portrait never came to life in her office... I just thought he was being his usual dismal self really."

Harry lifted his head when the waitress came by to set the plates down and picked up the drinks list. He was going to need something a hell of a lot stronger than red wine with his dinner.

"Harry, you really shouldn't-"

"Unless you want me to go over there and throw a certain killing curse in their faces..."

"Alright fine. But you're going side-along. I don't want you splinching yourself," Hermione said with a frown before taking a sip of her wine.

Harry spent the rest of the evening getting slightly shit-faced over dinner and making a point of not looking across the dining room to the odd trio of maybe-maybe-not muggles that shouldn't have been able to see the bloody restaurant in the first place.

 

It had been a few weeks since The Incident as he liked to call it, and things hadn't been that great. He couldn't sleep well, what with the nightmares getting worse and causing his anxiety to skyrocket through the roof and beyond. Since Steven proposed to Nancy the two were spending more time together, leaving Thomas to his own devices more often than not. He spent much of his free time at the library reading.

Today, however, he was having a rather rough time of it. He'd hardly gotten any sleep and couldn't keep anything down. He kept having the strangest nightmares about a very angry teenager hellbent on killing him. It was... unsettling to say the least. Especially considering the young man in his nightmares bore a striking resemblance to...

And that was just it. He didn't know.

He couldn't remember.

Perhaps it was just an amalgamation of the different people who came into the book shop and was some weird representation of some odd mental quirk. Or perhaps a fantastical version of someone his mind was trying to remember from before the accident.

Either way, his current state was not a very good one when he found himself sitting in the waiting room at his therapist's office.

The receptionist gave him a kind smile when he'd signed in for his appointment.

He didn't have to wait long before the door opened and a weeping woman stepped out from the corridor. He'd just been about to turn the page in the newspaper to have a look at the obituaries - sometimes they were good for a laugh when the deceased wanted to impart a final word, or a disgruntled relative wanted to get a last potshot in - when the weeping woman went past.

"Mr. Gaunt," said another woman by the door, her long blond hair pulled back into a loose but stylish bun. She wore a bright smile on her face. "Would you like a drink before we go back?"

"No. No I'm fine. Let's just get this over with," he said, folding the paper and laying it back on the table between his chair and the next row of uncomfortable plastic abominations. He stood and slipped into the corridor, making his way towards the back to the familiar, if slightly fantastical, office.

"Daphne, I'm afraid this will be a working lunch today. Could you get ahold of Neville and tell him I might be late tonight."

"Of course Dr. Lovegood," she said, checking that they were alone and discretely plucking her wand out of her sleeve to cast a quick Patronus message.

Tom on the other hand had just made himself comfortable on the overstuffed plaid sofa the woman kept in her office for patients when she had stepped into the office and closed the door. "Now, Thomas. What seems to be the problem? Our normal appointment isn't until next Tuesday-"

"The nightmares have gotten worse. I can't eat, I can't sleep. I just... Every time I try to get some rest all I see when I close my eyes are just these angry green eyes. It's... He's so angry and I don't understand. I don't even know if he's real or not or if he's just some figment of my imagination or-"

"Thomas, you're rambling again," she said with a soft, kind but dreamy smile as she settled into her chair with a notepad and one of her pens with the crazy pen topper. "Stop and take a slow, deep breath to get your thoughts in order and then let's try again."

He closed his eyes, leaned back against the cushions and gave a little nod. Once he figured out exactly what he was going to say...

"It all started not long after The Incident I told you about a few weeks ago..."

She gave an encouraging nod and scribbled on the paper.

An hour and a half later Tom left feeling a hell of a lot better than he did when he went in. At the door to the waiting room he stopped and smiled. "Thank you, Dr. Lovegood. I know I'm a pain in the arse but truly, I do appreciate all the help."

"You don't have to thank me, Mr. Gaunt," she said with a sweet smile. "Now, I want you to relax. And try to find yourself a new hobby to help ease the stress. I find cooking or baking to be very relaxing after a long week."

"Yes... Yes I think I might try that."

"Talk to Daphne at the desk on your way out. We like to keep a list of different activities and local events for people looking to try new things." She opened the door to let him out and call her next patient.

"Mr. Peterson?" she said sweetly. A plump, twitchy young man stood up from his seat, wiping at his sweaty face with a bit of tissue.

"It's the snake thing again, Dr. Lovegood," he said just before the door closed behind them.

Daphne stifled a laugh, catching Tom's attention as she pulled the list he'd asked for. "I know it's not funny but honestly... some of the people that come in here..."

"I do hope I'm not one of the ones you find amusing, Miss Greengrass."

"Of course not, Mr. Gaunt," she said back quickly. "But that one... nervous as a mouse. Should have seen him from the start though. Much more twitchy. I had to replace two lamps because of him jumping in fright thinking there was a snake in here. I swear. He's gotten better though."

"I should hope so. Dr. Lovegood is very good at what she does. I'd be surprised if there was a single person that came in here she couldn't help."

The receptionist gave a small nod. "You can keep that copy. I've got a whole file of them in the drawer."

"Thank you," he said, folding the paper and tucking it into his pocket. "I'll see you at my usual time on Tuesday then," he said, leaving the office in a much better mood than he'd been in when he'd come in.

And he left none too soon before a silvery shape leapt through the far wall. "Thanks for letting me know, Daph. Tell Luna it's alright, I've got to stay late anyway. Someone brought in a nearly dead mandrake so it'll be a while trying to get it stable enough to go home. Give her my love." And then, it's job done, it dissipated.

Daphne sighed, took out a block of muggle sticky notes and scribbled Neville's message down for Dr. Lovegood.

 

"How's work?" Hermione asked.

"You know I can't talk about what we do in the DOM, Hermione," Luna said, a few days after her sudden appointment with Mr. Gaunt. "So please stop trying to find out what I'm working on."

"Alright alright. So how's Neville's projects been coming along then," she asked, eating a bit of her salad.

"Pretty well actually. He's come up with a new muggle friendly medication for anxiety. The trick is just trying to sneak it by the statue of secrecy so he can get it to the people who really need it."

"He can always test it on Harry. I swear these days he's... He's a nervous wreck. Keeps thinking Voldemort's still out to get him. It's getting harder and harder to get him to come out of Grimmauld Place."

Luna frowned, sipped her juice, then frowned some more. "What's brought this on? He hasn't been that bad since... well... since right after the war ended."

"Well you see, it all started the morning after Halloween. The git went out and partied with Seamus and Dean and you know that never ends well. He was still in costume, he went to a muggle party as Voldemort for a laugh, and there was this muggle..."

As she listened to Hermione explain the situation with Harry, Luna hid her growing frown and uncertainty. By the time she was done, Luna had already taken out a notepad and scribbled down a lot of notes. "Does he currently see a mind healer?"

"He used to... and then Ginny... Well. He's refused to see a mind healer since we came back from Australia."

"Who did he see before then?"

"Healer Constance Hargold I think."

"Oh she's very good. I trained with her a bit before taking my oaths. I'll talk to her, see if she has an ideas on how to get Harry settled again. I won't pry into his personal records, but she might give me some advice to pass along for you."

"Thanks Luna. Ron and I are at wits end and Harry's becoming a barely functional lush these days. Anything you can find out will be appreciated."

 

Luna threw herself onto one of the rather comfortable squishy chairs in the break room. "Any new faces spit out by the Veil today?"

"Aunt Bella was thrown out yesterday," her partner groused. "They've spent the last 24 hours straight digging in that mind. I don't even want to think about what they've had to erase or seal off."

Luna frowned. "I hope she's not on my caseload. I've just had the biggest wrench thrown into things and I honestly don't know what to do about it."

Her partner frowned. "Which patient?"

"Who do you think?" she replied. "The Dork Lord."

Draco snickered. "Death must have some sense of humor."

"It took a perfectly good Dark Lord and gave him anxiety," she said with a sigh. "But that's not the worst of it. A year's worth of progress is falling apart because the morning after Halloween guess who he ran into?"

"Does this have to do with why you needed a rush order on an obliviator to the old Black house?"

She nodded. "I have no idea how Harry gets into these things but I swear if he screws this up I'm going to be so mad he'll wish it was a Nargle infestation he was dealing with." She sighed as Draco shook his head. "Oh, I do have some good news for you though," she said cheerily. "Your mother's getting remarried!"

"What?!"

"Yes. Apparently after we released her and Severus Snape from the program they ended up finding each other. Tom's living with them, you know. It seems he popped the question sometime in the last month and she said yes."

Draco was thoughtful for a moment before giving a slight nod and a small smile. "I'm glad. After... after the suicide I was worried that about... and then when she was thrown out of the Veil-"

"They're both very happy from what I've heard. They both have very good jobs. After I find out when the wedding is, I'll see if Tom can show me some pictures. He'll probably be asked to be the best man."

 

Mr. and Mrs. Princeton were married on New Years Eve. Rather than a big wedding they ran off to Scotland with a few friends and eloped.

Tom was happy to have something else to do that day than be reminded of the fact he hated his birthday.

The reception was held in an unsavory bar with odd micro-brews. He found he quite liked the one they kept calling Butterbeer. It was oddly comforting, in a weird sort of way. The newlyweds and friends - a grand total of three - ended up crashing in a cheap motel.

At least, the grand total of people was MEANT to be five. Steven and Nancy, of course. With Tom in a single room and Nancy's dear friends Isabella and Dora splitting a double on the other side.

That still didn't quite explain how or why Tom woke up to find an extra body slumped across his bed and, incidentally, himself.

So of course the most logical answer was to escape the bed, pull on some clothes and wake the bastard up in the most inconvenient way possible.

He went to the bath with a plastic cup, filled it with cold water and returned to the bed to pour it over the sleeping man's head.

 

Harry had thought that perhaps he would get away for a bit after Christmas. Go visit some friends up in Scotland. Friends who did not deliberately stage an intervention behind his back because they thought he was drinking too much.

This was the most logical course of action, at least to Harry, to end up shitfaced on New Years Eve in a seedy bar with Seamus and Dean, rocking in the new year.

But that didn't explain how or why he woke up with a splitting headache and a greatly annoyed man standing over him with an empty plastic cup in one hand and a-

"Are you threatening me with a plastic spoon?"

"Even a plastic spoon can be deadly if you apply enough force behind it," he snapped. "Why the hell are you naked in my bed?"

Harry stared at him in confusion as he tried to recall the night before and found....

Well, he remembered doing a pub crawl for new years with Seamus and Dean. And then really gorgeous blue eyes. Gorgeous blue eyes and butterbeer. There was a bit of firewhisky in there somewhere, too.

"Wait.... were you the bloke I snogged at midnight?" he asked, not quite sure without his glasses.

The man huffed at him. "I go all the way to Scotland and still find myself dealing with idiots. Just get dressed and get out."

It wasn't until after Harry had hastily pulled on his clothes and hurried out the door while slipping on his glasses that he realized who that was.

"Merlin's beard! Ron was right. I really do need to stop drinking..."

 

The entire train ride back down to London, Tom found himself sitting very uncomfortably and silently cursing himself because it didn't occur to him until after they'd checked out of the motel that the man he'd kicked out of his room and, presumably, had drunken sex with, was the same one that had caused The Incident back at the start of November.

"Dear God how do I keep getting into these messes..." he muttered to himself.

"Aww... did ickle Tommy have to do the walk of shame?"

"Isabella leave him alone," Nancy said. "For what it's worth, Tom, I think he was very handsome. If a little peculiar."

"How the hell can you even remember last night. You were just as drunk as I was," Dora said with a laugh.

"No she wasn't," Steven intoned dryly. "She kept giving her drinks away to those three miscreants. It's probably why four eyes was pawing at Thomas all night."

Tom glared at his friend before turning his attention back out the window.

 

Harry did his best to keep from letting New Years bother him.

But it was hard to do when he got a letter from the Ministry congratulating him on his new marriage.

"Your WHAT?!" had been Ron's first words after reading the letter Harry had thrust at him in disbelief.

Hermione sighed. "Just go down and get it annulled. The fact that it's a muggle might actually hasten it along a bit. Well, that and the fact that you're... well... you."

Ron gaped at her before shaking his head. "There's no such thing as divorce or annulment in our world. When you get married, magic says it's forever. Unless one of you dies. Why do you think Blaise's mum keeps becoming a widow when she gets bored?"

"What?! She- So Harry can't-"

"Nope."

"I need a drink..."

"That's what got you into this mess Harry!"

Harry sighed and slumped into one of his comfy, lumpy chairs.

"Well..." Ron started, thinking. "There IS one way around this. Maybe. If it wasn't consummated he could claim some kind of love charm or a curse or maybe even-"

"Don't bother."

"You mean..."

"Yeah... I don't remember anything but I'm pretty sure waking up naked and cover in... well, you know... that's a sure sign that it was very much consummated."

Hermione and Ron sat in disbelief before the brains of the trio narrowed her eyes. "There's something you're not telling us..."

"Really, that's the-"

"You know when mum and dad got married and the ministry sent out the official letter they sent a copy of the marriage license, too."

Hermione's eyes narrowed even more as she now squinted suspiciously at her first ever friend while he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Accio Harry's marriage license," she said, swishing her wand. A crumpled paper from the trash in the kitchen zoomed into the room and landed in her hand.

"Please, don't! You REALLY don't want to read that!"

Hermione quickly opened up the wad of paper, and gasped. Ron peered over to have a look as Harry buried his face in his hands.

"Blimey Harry! How the hell did you manage to marry You-Know-Who?! He's dead!? Ain't he?..."

"The muggle, Ron," Harry manage to get out just loud enough for his friends to hear. "Somehow even turned into a bleedin' muggle that bastard manages to mess with my life."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "We warned you about all your drinking, Harry. We told you it would only lead you straight to trouble. But you just didn't listen and now here we are. Somehow, you've managed once again to do the impossible."

 

Luna sighed when she came into the office and saw him already sitting there waiting. Daphne gave her a sympathetic smile before sipping her coffee.

"You might as well come on back, Mr. Gaunt," she said, ushering him to the back.

Once he was inside and she'd shut the door, she moved to set her handbag and coat on her desk. "What's got a bee in your bonnet this morning Thomas?"

"Owls," he said when he stopped pacing.

"Owls?"

"Yes owls! Owls everywhere! Following me about! One of them found me at work yesterday and just sat there waving it's leg at me like some kind of mad messenger pigeon." Frustrated hands pulled at his normally perfectly combed dark hair, twisting it around his fingers much in the same manner she'd often seen Harry do back in school during the DA meetings.

"Why don't you have a seat Thomas and we can-"

"Dr. Lovegood, what's wrong with me? I feel like... I'm going mad. I just know it. Nothing makes any ruddy sense anymore!"

Luna frowned, coming out from behind her desk and giving him a concerned look. "I'm going to ask Daphne to bring us some tea, alright. A nice soothing chamomile will do you a world of good right now and then we can talk about these owls."

He scoffed and waved his hand at her in dismissal, only to stop and pull it back when papers on her desk scattered. Blue eyes went wide in shock before he sat down and pressed both hands between his knees.

Luna left the office briefly. In her absence Tom took the time to look around the office. Really look this time. It was cozy. The fireplace was unlit, but then again it was probably just for show given the vent in the ceiling continuously pumped warm air from the central heating unit in the building into the room. A few pictures lined up on the mantle, and the woman's degrees were on the walls above them. There were paintings of unicorns and large, oddly shaped trees. One painting was of a large castle at dusk, swirling in mist and empty boats on a lake leading up to the large stone wonder.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Dr. Lovegood asked when she'd returned, her receptionist right behind her with a tray and tea service. "My mother painted that when I was a child. She never finished it. There's supposed to be little people in the boats. But I like it this way."

"Will that be all, Dr. Lovegood?" the woman asked, shooting what she thought were discrete glances towards Mr. Gaunt on the sofa.

His therapist sighed. "Please contact Dr. Malfoy and ask him if he'd be willing to cover my patients for the day-"

"I don't want to be a burden-" Tom started to protest.

"And if not, then cancel. I will also need to schedule an appointment this evening with Ms. Potts please."

"Of course, Dr. Lovegood," Daphne said, hurrying from the office.

Once the door was closed, Luna poured two cups of chamomile tea with a warm smile. "Now, Thomas. Lets have a chat about those odd owls."

 

Harry was fuming.

He'd done everything he could to try and get the thing broken. He'd even stooped to Malfoy-like levels and started flashing galleons around in an attempt to bribe someone into doing it for him. But no one could break it for him.

Even some of the... less reputable and Darker avenues yielded no results.

"You do realize Harry that each time you attempt to break the marriage bond an owl gets sent out to your spouse - unintended though he may be."

Harry threw himself into the chair across from Kingsley. "If it was any other muggle, fine. Peachy. I'd just deal with it because that's what I do. I deal with the shit that just happens to me. But come on!"

"It is not ideal... no."

"The man has tried to kill me since I was fifteen months old, Kings! I did NOT survive six years of this bullshit and a war, which I remind you was fought under protest and ended with me killing the snake-faced bastard, to end up accidentally married to a de-powered muggle version of the VERY SAME BASTARD!"

With his shout, the bottle of brandy on the sideboard shattered.

Not that the man minded. It was a gift from Lord Parkinson, who also had terrible taste in alcohol. "Well," Kingsley said. "You really only have yourself to blame. We did try to get you to see your drinking was causing a problem. You can't afford to drink so much you black out like that. And now you've discovered there are consequences."

"You're not my mother so stop trying."

"You're right. But I do consider myself a friend. And as a friend, perhaps you should seek him out and explain the problem to him? This isn't the first time such a thing has happened and there is precedent for most of your situation."

"Most? Yeah. Right. Everyday people just get married to dead people and nobody finds a problem with it!"

Kingsley sighed and had it not been an angry alcoholic he was dealing with, he'd have offered a stiff drink to help smooth things over. As it was the hardest thing he could offer the young man was a glass of cold pumpkin juice or some herbal tea.

"Harry..." he said after a long moment. "I'm going to do something that under most circumstances I really should not be doing. But I think that if you see for yourself, you'll understand some of your rather... unique situation." He stood and smoothed out his robes. "You're familiar with the Department of Mysteries?"

"You mean the department that ruined my life multiple times? Yeah. Intimately."

"Good. Come with me and perhaps what I have to show you will help put some of your anger to bed."

 

Luna was met at the lift by one of her fellows from the DoM. "This had better be good. You know Unspeakable Potts hates to be disturbed from her work."

"Yes, well, this is rather important. She's going to want to know."

The elevator ride and subsequent walk to the Death Chamber was unsettling to say the least. Ever since her first visit to the place in fourth year, she never failed to shiver when she saw the arch behind the ward dome.

"Unspeakable Lovegood."

Luna turned around to see the portrait of a woman peering back at her from behind a desk. The desk was more for show, really, since most paperwork was put on a podium for the woman and pages turned and items exchanged by the house elves employed by the department.

"I must congratulate you on the successes you've had this last year. I heard Mr. Wolfe and Mr. White were able to leave the program together without any problems. I'm so glad. They deserved a better start than last time. Muggle life suits them."

"I'm still having a bit of trouble with Peterson though. He just can't move past the near death experiences with Nagini while he was a rat."

"Speaking of snakes... How is my favorite project?"

Luna sighed as one of the house elf assistants brought biscuits and tea for her. "He was making excellent progress. But... an incident has set him back considerably. And I'm afraid he may be getting magic back."

"The fact he can see through muggle repelling wards was a risk we knew we were taking with all of them. But the veil strips the magic away. They return to us without even a squib spark."

"The average witches and wizards, maybe. But Thomas was never average. Rewriting his memories wasn't as effective as it was for everyone else. Each obliviation is giving him panic attacks and anxiety. He actually used wandless magic in my office this morning. Scattered all my papers off the desk. How do you explain that?"

The portrait was silent a moment as the woman pondered the living one's words. Then, slowly, green eyes blinked and the red head nodded. "Did you bring his file and case notes?"

"Of course."

"Good. Hand it off to Nelly and enjoy some tea. I've got another meeting about to take place in my office so feel free to make yourself at home dear."

 

Harry sat with his arms crossed over his chest and glared at the empty portrait behind the desk. It wasn't empty for long. A figure in Unspeakable robes appeared, face obscured and hidden - as all the living ones were - from view.

"So sorry Minister. I was in another meeting with one of my staff and didn't realize we had anything scheduled for today."

"That's quite alright, Unspeakable Potts. This was a spur of the moment decision on my part. We've had a problem arise with one of your... projects and felt it necessary to bring it to your attention."

"Oh? Which project then? We have so many down here it's hard to keep track sometimes."

"Project Rebirth, actually," Kingsley said, then gestured to the petulant young adult beside him. "Mr. Potter seems to have found himself caught up with Mr. Riddle... Again."

There was a long, pregnant silence before the figure in the painting sighed and gave a nod. "You might as well come on to the Death Chamber then... Why is it always you, Harry?"

He muttered something along the lines of asking himself that every day since he was eleven. Whether or not either party heard it... neither gave any indication.

 

Luna looked up when the door opened and two more chairs appeared alongside her own. "Oh, company?"

"Luna?!"

"Harry! So good to see you again! Congratulations on the wedding by the way."

"What? Who told- you know what. Never mind."

"Owls, Harry. My patient's been followed by ministry owls for weeks trying to deliver notices of your attempts to divorce him."

Harry dropped into one of the chairs, leaned forward, and hid his face in his hands with a low, guttural moan of despair.

"Don't worry. I'm sure it'll all work out."

**Author's Note:**

> I originally did plan to finish this one but lost my muse.  
> So here's some basics.
> 
> After Harry Potter became the Master of Death, the Veil started spitting people out. These people didn't always have anything to do with Harry himself, but they were summoned forth subconciously by Harry. Harry drinks heavily to try and forget the war and the things he did, things that happened to him, and the terrible cost of lives.
> 
> The people that get spit out are at their ideal peak age and appearance - so about early to mid twenties. Some of them mid to late twenties. Most have no memory at all of their life before, but some do through terrible nightmares and dreams. They also do not have any magic. They are, essentially, muggles. Not even enough magic to be considered squibs. However, some were so powerful in their previous lives that they can see the magical world still. This was unexpected.
> 
> Draco Malfoy joined the DoM after his father's death in Azkaban and his mother's suicide. Before that he was in healer training as a self imposed penance for what he did during the war.
> 
> The Program was devised by the portrait of Lily Potter, who in life had been a secret unspeakable, as a way to give these newly not dead people a second chance at life.
> 
> Harry Potter's luck being what it is, and his subconcious actually pitying Tom Riddle in the end, of course he would end up bringing the poor bastard back to life. And of course, because Harry just can't be normal, the two eventually are drawn together.
> 
> The rest of the fic was meant to be an angsty journey of redemption, love, and second chances but I just couldn't be bothered to finish it.


End file.
